Chapter One
Eighteen Years Later
Maura was not entirely sure about Hogmanay.
Her reservations weren’t something she ever admitted, of course – as Scottishness went, bringing in the bells was up there with tartan, haggis and Irn-Bru, and anything less than total enthusiasm felt like a betrayal of her country. But she did sometimes wonder, as the clock struck twelve and her fellow Scots swelled into ‘Auld Lang Syne’, whether the time-honoured tradition of grabbing the new year with both hands and dousing it liberally with drink was the best way to wipe the slate clean.
She knew she was very much in the minority – thousands descended on Edinburgh to join the famous Hogmanay street parties and admire the magnificent firework display that lit up the sky over the castle – but given any choice in the matter, Maura would secretly prefer to spend the final few hours of December in bed with a mug of cocoa and a good book, the better to greet January with a clear head and no hazy regrets about the night before. It was, she suspected, a symptom of reaching her late thirties. And it was absolutely not an option with a boyfriend like Jamie, who never missed an excuse for a big night.
Which was why Maura was currently squashed into the corner of a white leather sofa, at the house party of one of Jamie’s rugby mates, watching a group of grown men down shots like they were teenagers. It wasn’t that she disapproved – she’d done her fair share of drinking in her youth – but nothing could have induced her to join them now. Each to their own , she thought, watching them grimace as they bit into wedges of lemon.
On the sofa beside Maura, her friend Zoe raised two elegant eyebrows and leaned closer, her Home Counties accent cutting through the thumping music. ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’
Maura glanced at the clock on the wall, which showed 10.15pm, and then back at the drinkers, who were enthusiastically setting up another round of shots. ‘Is Archie going to make it until midnight?’
Originally from Dunfermline, Archie was a new recruit to the rugby club, a fresh-faced university student who was doing his best to keep up with his more seasoned teammates but inevitably starting to look a little green around the gills. Zoe followed Maura’s gaze and narrowed her eyes in appraisal. ‘Absolutely no chance,’ she said firmly. ‘But I doubt he’ll be the only one, unless someone hides the tequila.’
That was a mission Maura had no intention of accepting. If five years of hanging around with Jamie’s friends had taught her anything, it was that the Fun Police were never well-received. And while Zoe was a relative newcomer to the group, having only dated her boyfriend, Liam, for ten months or so, Maura knew she wasn’t about to intervene either. ‘They’d only open a bottle of something else,’ she said pragmatically. ‘Best to let them get on with it.’
Zoe nodded her agreement. ‘Good advice. Never get between a scrum half and the bar.’
Maura laughed. ‘Or a fly-half. Or any of them, to be honest.’ She eyed her friend curiously. ‘So what were you thinking, if it wasn’t “how long before Archie passes out”?’
The other woman looked momentarily perplexed, then her expression cleared. ‘Oh, I was looking at the guy who just arrived – the one in the hallway.’ She gave Maura a mischievous look. ‘And what I was thinking was, HELLO .’
Automatically, Maura glanced across the crowded room but her view of the hall was obscured by a couple standing in the doorway. ‘Someone you know?’
‘Someone I’d like to know,’ Zoe said, then gave a little shrug. ‘If I wasn’t with Liam, obviously.’
Maura craned her head, her curiosity piqued. The party was at a house in Edinburgh’s New Town – a stone’s throw from the rugby club that formed a significant part of her social life – and she’d thought she knew everyone there. ‘A player?’ she asked Zoe, who shook her head.
‘Too pretty.’
Maura raised her eyebrows. ‘Some of our boys are good-looking.’
‘You know what I mean,’ Zoe said. ‘The kind of face that has never been on the wrong end of a crunching tackle.’
And Maura did know what she meant. Jamie was rugged and handsome but his nose had been broken more than once and there was a faded silvery line on his forehead from a collision that had resulted in hospital treatment for concussion. Every rugby player she knew had similar battle scars that they wore with immense pride. ‘I wonder who he is,’ she said, glancing towards the hall again in case the view had cleared and noting with mild disappointment that it had not.
‘Only one way to find out,’ Zoe said decisively, and levered herself off the sofa. ‘Can I get you another drink?’
Maura considered the dregs of lukewarm Prosecco in the bottom of her glass. ‘Maybe just a Coke.’
‘Sensible,’ Zoe replied, ‘if just a tiny bit boring. Wait here – I’ll report back with the gossip.’
A moment later, she was weaving her way through the crush, trading smiles and nods. Maura watched her go, noting the appreciative looks from some of the guests as the slender blonde passed by. She hadn’t known Zoe long, only for the months she’d been dating Liam, but they’d quickly become friends; she made Maura feel less out of place among the often-raucous rugby crowd. There were other wives and girlfriends, of course, many of whom had been part of the group much longer than Maura, and she liked them too. But Zoe had a sparkle that had drawn Maura in from the first moment they met. Hogmanay might not be so bad with a partner in crime, she decided.
A roar from the hardened drinkers made her look over to see Jamie holding a tray of lime-green jelly shots aloft. These were quickly snatched up. Jamie glanced Maura’s way, raising an enquiring eyebrow. She shook her head. Shrugging, he offered one of the two he held to Archie, who hesitated for only a fraction of a second before tipping it into his mouth. Maura’s lips twisted in wry amusement. It wouldn’t be long before that was coming back up, if she was any judge. Jamie, on the other hand, would be fine. His tolerance for alcohol had been finely honed by years amid the play-hard, party-hard environment of the rugby crowd.
Not for the first time, Maura reflected how different she and Jamie were. He was gregarious and immensely likeable, with a charm few could resist once it was turned their way. It was that charm that had first ensnared Maura, at a ceramics gallery viewing sponsored by the bank Jamie worked for. He’d made a beeline for her, hiding in the corner while people studied and discussed her creations, and kept a respectful distance even as he fixed her with a sympathetic smile. ‘You look like you’d rather be anywhere but here.’
She had hesitated, because it wasn’t strictly true. The people in the gallery were here to view the pieces she had made – bowls and vases she had worked on for months – and there was a part of her that wanted to see them admired and appreciated, not to mention bought. But she’d be lying if she pretended she found prestigious events like this easy, even though she knew most potters would kill to be in her shoes. A down-to-earth pottery show was more her thing, in a chilly marquee or village hall, full of ceramics enthusiasts with wide-ranging, quirky tastes and fellow potters to chat with. A show that wasn’t exclusively about her. ‘Not at all,’ she’d replied as she looked up at him, hoping the lie wasn’t too transparent, and held out her hand. ‘I’m Maura.’
‘I know,’ he said, encompassing her fingers completely with his own large hand. ‘You’re the talent behind all of this beauty.’ He waved a hand at the spotlit gallery, with its pedestals and tables of gleaming blue and green and turquoise ceramics. ‘I feel as though I’m on a desert island, surrounded by gently lapping waves. You must really love the sea.’
‘I do,’ Maura said, gratified. ‘Although I’m not sure I came anywhere close to capturing its true depth or beauty.’
He eyed her quizzically, black brows beetling. ‘Seriously?’ Turning, he studied a wide, wavy-edged bowl glazed in a delicate sea-green. ‘I can almost hear the crash of the surf when I look at this piece. And the way the glass shimmers at the bottom, half-covering the anemones and leaf patterns underneath – it’s like peeping into a rock pool once the tide has gone out.’
Maura felt her cheeks grow warm, partly in pleasure that he’d understood what she’d been trying to achieve, but mostly in shame because she had totally judged this stranger by his appearance – tall, well-built and with a jaw that looked like it could crack boulders, let alone walnuts. He was immaculately dressed – his suit was expensive and well-fitted – and his thick dark hair was tamed into submission by liberally applied gel, all of which had led her to automatically label him as a typical city banker. Not the type to appreciate art, she had decided, without even realising she’d done so. And now he was forcing her to reappraise her initial assessment, and her own preconceptions along with it. ‘Thank you,’ she said, praying her face wasn’t as crimson as it felt.
He smiled then, his blue eyes crinkling at the edges in a way that somehow eased her discomfort and made her feel worse. ‘You’re welcome. But where are my manners? I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Jamie Wallace. I work for Castle Finance, and I can tell you on behalf of all my colleagues how honoured we are to be sponsoring this exhibition.’
‘Oh.’ Maura heard the faint squeak in her voice and took a deep breath. It was time to take control of herself and act like a professional. ‘It’s nice to meet you, Jamie.’
‘I hope so,’ he said, a smile curving the corners of his mouth again. ‘Even though you’re secretly hoping I’m going to leave you alone soon.’
‘I am not,’ she protested and was startled to realize she meant it. ‘I have a tendency to hide away at these things and then be annoyed at myself afterwards for not speaking to anyone,’ she admitted. ‘At least I can congratulate myself later on talking to you.’
Jamie laughed, a deep, warm sound that Maura found made her want to laugh too. ‘I’m not sure anyone has ever congratulated themselves for being cornered by me. But you’re very kind to say so.’
His wry self-deprecation was as charming as it was misplaced. Maura raised her eyebrows. ‘I don’t believe that for a second.’
‘You don’t?’ His blue eyes rested on her with interest. ‘Then have dinner with me. Tonight, when the gallery closes.’
She gaped at him, wrongfooted again. ‘I – uh –’
‘But I’m an idiot,’ he said, slapping his forehead. ‘You must have plans – a glittering celebration with your friends and family. Your boyfriend.’
Maura pressed her lips together. She did indeed have plans, and they involved a hot-water bottle, pyjamas and her sofa. But Jamie didn’t need to know that. He was giving her a way out, an excuse to turn him down without either of them losing face, and she was very much surprised to realize she didn’t want to. ‘No,’ she said, before she could change her mind. ‘I don’t have anything planned. Dinner sounds good.’
To her mild amusement, he looked momentarily nonplussed, as though taken aback by her assent. ‘So it’s a date, then?’
Maura gazed up at him, noticing all over again how broad he was, so that he almost towered over her, even though he had taken care to keep some distance between them. He must work out, a distracted part of her brain observed, even as she smiled in acceptance. ‘Yes. It’s a date.’
That had been more than five years ago, Maura reminded herself as she was roused from her memories by another enthusiastic roar, and it had been a long time since Jamie had shown such interest in her work. These days he left her to it in the pottery studio below the Dean Village flat they shared, and she couldn’t remember the last time he’d come to one of her shows, although it had been years since she’d had a glitzy solo exhibition like the one where they’d met. It was the way all couples went, she knew – familiarity led to comfort, which eventually bred a benign lack of curiosity in even the most loving relationships. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to explain exactly what Jamie did for a living, beyond ‘something clever in investment banking’. It didn’t mean anything. And yet there were times when Maura couldn’t help feeling a little wistful for the man who had wooed her so determinedly when they’d first met.
Zoe materialized in front of her, a glass of Coke in one hand and a red wine in the other. ‘Mission accomplished,’ she announced as she sat beside Maura once more. ‘He’s an actor, which explains the pretty face, but he’s taking a break at the moment.’
‘An actor,’ Maura echoed. ‘Is he famous?’
Zoe took a swig of wine. ‘He says not but I suppose that’s what he would say. I didn’t recognize his name so he can’t have been in any big films or done much TV.’
Maura took a sip of her own drink. ‘He could be a stage actor. What’s he called?’
‘Fraser Bell,’ Zoe said, and Maura felt a clang in the pit of her stomach. That was a name she knew, although she hadn’t heard it for years. It couldn’t be the same person, could it? There had to be more than one Fraser Bell in Edinburgh. But an actor… that was harder to write off as a coincidence. ‘Was he – is he Scottish?’ she managed, after a few seconds had ticked by.
‘Yes,’ Zoe said. ‘He could hardly be anything else, with a name like that.’
‘No, I suppose not,’ Maura said faintly, suddenly transported to the crowded, chaotic corridors of school, where she’d admired Fraser Bell from afar. And then the Spirit of Christmas Past raised its head, reminding her of a stolen kiss one winter’s night after they’d left school. She tried to sound casual. ‘What’s he doing here?’
‘Hoping to get blind drunk, like the rest of us,’ Zoe replied with a snort, then eyed Maura’s Coke. ‘Well, apart from you. Or do you mean why is he in Edinburgh?’
‘The second part.’
Zoe shrugged. ‘I didn’t ask. He just said he was taking a break from acting and I assumed he must have family here.’ She eyed Maura closely. ‘Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. You don’t know him, do you?’
‘I might,’ Maura admitted, although she had no intention of saying any more than that. Zoe definitely didn’t need to know she and Fraser had been anything more than schoolmates. ‘We might have gone to school together. How old would you say he was?’
‘Mid -to-late-thirties,’ her friend said, without hesitation. ‘Around your age.’
Which meant it could be him, Maura reasoned. But guessing someone’s age was tricky, especially with men, who didn’t have the benefit of make-up to disguise the passing of the years. It was so easy to get it wrong.
It seemed Zoe had arrived at a decision while Maura dithered. ‘Go and say hello,’ she demanded, her eyes wide. ‘Go on. And if it is him, you can have a mini reunion in the kitchen. Bond over the teachers you hated, get sentimental over the old days – it’s practically the law at Hogmanay, anyway.’
Maura couldn’t argue with that – teary-eyed reminiscences were very much part of the New Year celebrations. Except that if this was the Fraser she’d known from school, there was a very real possibility he wouldn’t remember her, let alone the drunken kiss they’d shared. And then Maura would wish she’d left well enough alone. Maybe it was better to try to catch a glimpse of him first, she thought, her gaze sliding towards the doorway once more. But Zoe had the bit firmly between her teeth. ‘Go and say hello,’ she repeated, her tone gently insistent. ‘What have you got to lose?’
The question made Maura feel as though she was nineteen again, awkward and shy and with all the social skills of a mouse. She’d changed over the years – art school in London had helped with that, and the need to develop some confidence to sell her work – but she’d never lost her shyness. And Zoe only knew the bare facts – she had no idea Maura had nursed a crush on Fraser at school, much less snogged him once. But both of those things had happened a long time ago and she hadn’t thought of Fraser for years. Would it really cost her anything to see if it was him? It didn’t need to be anything more than a fleeting conversation. Especially if he failed to recognize her.
‘Okay,’ she said at last, unsure whether the sudden flutter in her stomach was caused by nervousness or anticipation. ‘I’ll go.’
‘Excellent,’ Zoe said, and Maura thought she might actually clap her hands. ‘I’ll come too.’
‘No.’ The word was out before Maura could stop it; she didn’t need a witness to the humiliation she felt sure was coming. ‘Let me see if it’s him first.’
Zoe sighed. ‘Fine. I’ll give you five minutes and then I’m coming in.’
There was a strong possibility Maura would have fled by then but she kept that to herself. ‘Okay. Wish me luck.’
‘You’re going into the kitchen at a party,’ Zoe observed with a grin. ‘Not storming the Bastille. You don’t need luck.’
If only she knew , Maura thought as she made her way across the room. Then again, it was much better that she didn’t.